


Fade To Grey

by Whatthef0ucault



Category: A Day to Remember (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Blood and Violence, Child Death, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Explicit Language, Falling In Love, Guns, Love at First Sight, M/M, Minor Character Death, Old Fic, Stolen Moments, Time Travel, Violence, cross posted from livejournal, not my characters just borrowing, written circa 2012
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-04
Updated: 2019-08-04
Packaged: 2020-07-27 07:17:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20042047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Whatthef0ucault/pseuds/Whatthef0ucault
Summary: In only the short two weeks since he’d come to the northern metropolis to meet his team and complete The Mission, Jeremy had become a chameleon. Blending was essential to living, hiding the Self inside while changing the array of color on the skin. There was so little color here. Off-white, dirt-smudged tiles lined the walls, two tunnels going in opposite directions for the trains that ran under the city, big posters, advertisements, and all veiled in grey. The lone difference was a colorful map of the subway trains hanging on the far wall that defined all possible routes to be taken, a faded clock face hung above it.





	Fade To Grey

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, this story was written in 2012 and is cross posted from my [ LiveJournal](https://adtrslash.livejournal.com/866.html). It's freaking me out a little how there's some similarities to The Umbrella Academy when I had never read the comics back then nor have I read them now haha. Anyway, this was originally written for my creative writing class in college. Only edits made here were grammar fixes, everything else is as old as I feel. Thanks for stopping by!

**Current Reality: 01:45 hours, December 17th 2012**

The End

The resounding sound of shoe meeting cement echoed through the modern underground cavern as Jeremy descended into the subway station, one step at a time. With a brief look over his shoulder, dark eyes forever finding the world suspicious, he ran his card through the machine and stepped through rotating metal prongs, clad in a business suit and trench coat like every other native Boston business man who used the subway each and every day. In only the short two weeks since he’d come to the northern metropolis to meet his new team and complete The Mission, Jeremy had become a chameleon. Blending was essential to living, hiding the Self inside while changing the array of color on the skin. There was so little color here. Off-white, dirt-smudged tiles lined the walls, two tunnels going in opposite directions for the trains that ran under the city, big posters, advertisements, and all veiled in grey. The lone difference was a colorful map of the subway trains hanging on the far wall that defined all possible routes to be taken, a faded clock face hung above it. Not a person was there, the night shade above casting an invisible, but eerie dissonance within the air with only the harsh, flickering florescent lights to illuminate the station.

The slightly stocky, average-sized man sat down on one of the hard benches that lined the walls, grey suit skin becoming invisible against the backdrop. His soft, defeated sigh was the only thing that broke the quiet. Jeremy knew of the dangers that could be lurking there, and although he was hyperaware of his surroundings, he was tired. In this moment, he couldn’t seem to find the strength to give a damn about what might be out there, what could appear within any moment. To have lived so much in less than three decades, to have seen the horrors that he had seen made his soul wary of life itself and anything that could come his way. Besides, this next job he was heading for was probably his last, a suicide mission given to him by his now treacherous and calculating partner. With only a day to research the exact positions of all of JFK’s secret service and the position of Lee Harvey Oswald at Deely Plaza, Dallas, Texas, it would be impossible to kill the assassin without being killed. So if he was going to die anyway, why should it matter that it be at the hands of the former president’s men or the hands of a rival time skipper coming to put him out of his misery prematurely?

**Past Reality: 02:00 hours, December 16th 2012**

My Confession

With a cold sweat breaking across my neck and back, my environment surged into view around me as I ran out of the vortex portal as fast as possible through the familiar warehouse. A mistake, a huge mistake, my life hinged. I had sent myself back to my team’s safehouse location foolishly hoping that maybe the world hadn’t changed. Dodging cement beams, grey walls, and chilling halls, I made it to the open, colossal floor.

_Shit_.

The chalkboards were erased of my detailed, intricate plans; the once horrific but unique mismatching chairs, tables, and equipment all uniform, sleek, black; my team replaced with unfamiliar men dressed in black suits—all but one.

Tensed shoulders faced away, but a blonde head lifted from its position of seething contemplation, pools of blue moving from black table top to the cleared chalkboard. I saw his rage in the reflection, the air left my lungs and my throat tightened as I realized what I had done.

“_You_.” With a quick turn and his words dripped in venom, pale hands grabbing for my grey suit jacket, and I was thrust onto the floor. Pain radiated through my head with the sound of bone cracking against concrete, and it took me a moment to realize my hands were still stained with her blood as I raised them helpelessly.

“Josh! Josh, I know I failed. But I can fix i-“ My windpipe was crushed against leather shoe while I looked up into the face of my oldest, dearest friend while I choked.

“You shut your goddamn mouth, Jeremy! Don’t play the hero bullshit with me! I know, oh, I know what you’ve done. Spill a little girl’s blood for your own profit?! She was a child for god’s sake! You think I wasn’t going to find out?! After years of working together, family bonds, going through training, how many times I saved your ass, going through each and every day and not knowing who did it! You took her from me so I would have a weakness, so I could never be better than you!” He screamed through the fuzzy web of static in my ears, each word hitting me deeper and deeper. I could see it in the ire of his irises, the veil of time had already descended over his eyes. Only I knew the truth, the life before the butterfly effect of my failed mission. I felt a weight of led in my chest as I realized I was too late.

**Current Reality: 02:00 hours, December 17th 2012**

The con-man raised his head as an echo of shoes sounded in the air to his right, the direction in which he had come. He had no idea who else would be walking around the underground city at night unless they were up to no good, especially in this part of town. There were no local city music halls, no late night clubs, nothing worth risking safety for the infallible dangers of wandering the darker streets of this side of Boston at this hour. That had been the point, travel to the briefing location with no witnesses, falsified identification so there was no trace of him in the system. He should have been tense, he should be reaching for that pistol in his jacket, but he simply sat still, blankly looking ahead with plump, soft pink lips pressed together, already a ghost. The noise came closer; a reverberated echo of a brisk pace signaling whoever it was knew where they were going. Jeremy heard the pace stop, and then suddenly picked up even faster and increased in volume before going silent. He breathed.

“’Now, God be praised, that to believing souls gives light in darkness, comfort in despair.’” A slightly deep, calm voice with just a hint of smoky undertone came to his ears, though the words spilled out at a pace that was much faster than would be expected for such a voice. He blinked and willed himself to glance over at this sudden visitor, imagining a large gentleman to be sitting in that spot beside him.

Instead, he was met with a tiny stick of a man with a tight mop of brown curls, pale skin, defined cheek bones, wide set nose, and the tips of pale ears peeking out from the jungle of hair. Jeremy’s rounded face held a stoic gaze save for his eyebrows that were only slightly knit with confusion and surprise. A short moment passed between them, the other watching Jeremy with a curious expression.

“ You know, don’t look so glum? Keep your head up?” The smaller man said, trying to explain his random greeting, which still did not make sense to Jeremy. “I guess Shakespeare isn’t your thing, huh? Eh, oh well. He’s not everyone’s cup of tea, or shot of whiskey, or whatever it is you drink regularly.” The small man rambled on for a moment with a wave of his hand, not seeming to mind if Jeremy had a care for what he had to say. Jeremy observed blue eyes, yes, a bright blue, full of emotion, wonder. This whole man’s face beaming with an innocent inquiry highlighted with an essence of natural, pure energy.

“Southern sweet tea.” Jeremy finally spoke, feeling the words being dragged out of his consciousness by those curious eyes. He swallowed a previously undiscovered lump in his throat after he spoke. The short man smiled brightly at him, even dared to place his hand on Jeremy’s shoulder and give it the softest shove.

“I didn’t take you for a displaced southern man like myself. You seem more like one of those abstruse, esoteric kind of brooding characters, what with all the black you wear, maybe even dangerous. Lots of them in this city from what I’ve seen. But a suit, really? You’re just begging to end up in my novel. Where’s your Will Smith? Your James Bond?” Blue eyes asked, a playful kind of smirk, but it still held that foreign innocence. Really, who was this kid (he thinks kid because he looks young, in his early twenties maybe)? With the stranger’s messy hair, noticeable stubble, uncoordinated but vibrant wardrobe, and obnoxiously green shoes, Jeremy did not know what to think. His thick eyebrows rose again in a kind of shocked silence. The corners of his mouth did, however, twitch up into an amused sort of speculative look.

“In the bottom of the harbor actually,” he deadpanned, his own curiosity sparking of why exactly this man had come up to him and initiated conversation, especially after making such a…surprisingly detailed, advanced description of him.

The laugh that echoed out of the other hit Jeremy instantly like a rush of wind, the noise seeming to echo from the other’s small chest cavity and then get stuck in his throat pleasantly. He threw his head back with it too, swaying to the natural rhythm of it, his laugh as smooth as his voice, though slightly higher in pitch. Jeremy could only stare at him, taking in how easy all of this man’s expressions seemed to come to him, and the brooding man actually found himself laughing with this man for a moment. He was beautiful, free.

“Really though, who uses the term…what did you say? Esoteric?” Jeremy questioned a hint of his laugh still in his words, speaking before the other could answer to his joke.

“Yeah, esoteric, it means-“

“I know what it means. Just…that’s not something you hear every day.” Jeremy was beginning to think this guy was something you don’t see every day.

“Oh! Well yeah. Duh. Writers’ bias. We think in descriptive, fancy words. Can’t help it. Sometimes they just come spilling out. Other times they’re on the tip of the tongue and never come through. Like with my novel I’m writing. I think I already mentioned it? But yeah, big time crime-mob-esque type stuff. Figured Boston would be a cool place to start, then go down to New York when I’m done here. Always traveling, you know? Always searching for that muse,” the stranger, again, rambled.

All Jeremy could do was nod to him, his throat constricting as he swallowed silently. Muse, Josh had always called his little sister his muse. His heartbeat throbbed painfully as that last word resounded in thought, pulling him back into his head for just that moment.

**Past Reality: 01:00 hours, December 16th 2012**

_Destination: 12:00 hours June 21st, 1993_

The Failed Mission

I had traveled back to Jacksonville, Florida, the place Josh and I had called home. We were only kids at the time, but my adult-self was assigned to prevent an assassination attempt of the then Mayor Richard Brown at the JaxKids family festival. A rival time-skipping team sent one of their own to destroy the mayor and alter the paths that Josh and I had eventually chosen to pursue into the life of crime. It was the riskiest job I had taken yet, being so close to my own past. Both mine and Josh’s families would be there among the crowds, enjoying the games, shows, and mountains of cotton candy. I had been told to step down, to let an “unfamiliar” step in instead, but my mistrust of someone else having control over mine and Josh’s fates made that impossible. I had spent hours and hours calculating the expanses of time, exactly when and where the rival would be, the location of the Mayor, the location of the child versions of Josh and myself. It had to be quick, silent, unseen.

I spotted the target the moment I dropped into the past, having no time to be nostalgic about the fanfare. Keeping my eyes trained on him, my movements ordinary but surreptitious. I only had about a minute to complete the mission, only one chance to stop this so the future would not be altered any further by excessive tampering with time. I saw him through the crowd where he was hiding behind the corner of the building, waiting for the Mayor to walk by at his own calculated, precise moment.

The sound of gut-wrenching, high pitched sobbing pulled me from my concentration as I looked down to see her, The Muse. She had gotten lost that day, I knew, but I had never calculated exactly where her location had been between the brief time of her absence and her mother coming to find her. She saw me, looking right into my dark eyes and must have recognized the warm affection that was held there, she came closer. I felt myself start to panic, trying to step away from her as she came closer. “Do you know where my Mommy and Josh are? Or Jeremy? You look like him, are you his dad?” She said, her voice sad and groggy from her tears, her arms reaching out for me. I looked between her and the assassin, my mind torn, my time diminishing quickly.

In the heat of my frustration I grabbed her small hand and walked quickly with her, frantically looking around for where they could have been. I had calculated this, I knew where they would be, why could I not remember a damn thing in this moment? She continued to cry and sadly coo behind me, and the assassin was pulling out his gun. The mayor was walking towards one of the displays, completely out in the open. This was it, it was now or never. I let go of her hand and ran for the brick wall, hoping she would be lost in my pursuit, but she only ran after me, seeking the trust and security.

It was a blur of guns being drawn, of me jumping for the man and a struggle ensuing. I had no idea she was still there, watching in horror as two grown men fought to the death in front of her. Pain seared across my mouth as the butt of a gun was rammed hard, pushing me to the ground but pulling him with me. My heartbeat raced, mind disoriented, one arm holding his gun hand down, the other trying to bring my own to his temple. Next there were two shots fired, the silencers concealing the sound to just us. A small body fell limp to the ground.

**Current Reality: 02:10 hours, December 17th 2012**

“You know…traveling…looking for inspiration?” The stranger questioned again, seeming confused at Jeremy's silence.

“Yeah, kind of,” The strength was pulled from Jeremy’s voice as the remnants of his mind faded back to reality.

“What’re you really doing down here?” The other suddenly questioned. Jeremy's posture stiffened, head snapped up from where he had been gazing down at those ugly, muddled grey tiles at his feet. The stranger’s azul eyes just questioned him, no malicious intent behind it, nothing like the interactions Jeremy’s life normally consisted of. To give away your true identity was to give away your life. But what the hell? Why not?

“I’m traveling to the airport. I have a red-eye flight to catch for work…traveling to Texas.” Jeremy stated simply, but truthfully. The smaller man seemed to sense the seriousness, he picked up on Jeremy’s emotional cues surprisingly fast for someone he had literally met minutes ago, or maybe Jeremy just didn't have 'it' anymore.

“One way-ticket?” The older man's breath hitched silently at the younger’s question, as if the emotions of his finality had finally struck him in the same blow.

“Something like that…” But then his eyes glanced up at that crooked clock barely hanging onto its support on the far wall, and the minute hand passed over 13 mark. He scoffed dryly, sardonically. “It’s my birthday.”

“Really? Happy Birthday! That’s great!” That brightness just showered over Jeremy again from the tone of the other’s words, the man seeming to wiggle within his sitting position just from his expressions alone, but in reality hadn't moved much.

“Great? Why is that so great?”

“Revival, Renewal! The chance for a new start. You’ve survived a whole ‘nother year on this planet. That’s something to be proud of, Man. It’s never too late to change. Come on, cheer up you grumpy fuck, smile, live a little. Get a new wardrobe. Something with more color. See the light. Do something meaningful. Grab life by the cajones and squeeze!” The stranger chided, giving Jeremy’s arm yet another playful shove, the other's hand feeling warm even through his suit jacket. He couldn’t help but laugh once more, his cheeks strained under the unfamiliar shape of a smile. This only seemed to encourage the eccentric man to smile bigger, to laugh with him, to even hug him and say “See? That’s the spirit! You’re doing it already.”

Jeremy naturally hugged him back after a moment, his arms a little bit hesitant, awkward, and unsure. Feeling that small frame pressed close, those wild but now soft curls against his cheek, he felt a sudden warmth flood through him from the contact. His body relaxed, his mind melting from the ridged structures that upheld everything he had ever known before. Protection, stealth, greed, power, violence, it all faded into the back drop. Dark lashes slowly closed against sun-kissed skin, a slow, deep breath being drawn in and the natural, indescribable scent of this man flooded through Jeremy’s senses. He sighed.

A low rumbling emerged from the distance as the now approaching subway car sped closer, the only thing breaking the comforting silence they shared. Jeremy held onto this younger man just slightly tighter, embraced him for longer than would have been deemed socially acceptable, but the small form was just as relaxed, just as calm, fully accepting. When that screeching friction of metal on metal cut through his ears, Jeremy finally, reluctantly let him go. He just stared at the writer, that warmth centering in the middle of his chest, his fingertips aching so bad to touch one of those crazy curls.

“Ah! This is my train, I’ve gotta be going,” the small one said as he stood up from the bench, Jeremy immediately moving to his feet with his eyes still fixed on the other’s face. The writer started walking towards the train, but then turned around, lingering steps being taken backwards as he added on in a hopeful tone “Maybe we’ll run into each other again…?” A that lingering silence cuing Jeremy to give his name, the universal question of identity silently implied.

“Jeremy,” he revealed softly, awed.

“Alex,” the other grinned knowingly before accidentally bumping into the side of the metal tube, missing the open doorway. Alex stumbled a little bit before laughing easily; the smallest hint of color on his cheeks before he righted himself and stepped onto the car.

Jeremy stood silent and watched as the train slowly pulled away, the light fading into the darkness, being visible until it took a turn in the distance. And all Jeremy could do was smile as he realized he fell in love for the first time, if even only for a moment.


End file.
